Middle Aged Wife
by Ginny13
Summary: What will Ginny do to get Harry back? Will she answer the advertisemnt in the papers? Will she pay the fine? How far will she go to save their marriage? read and find out...


A/N: I had to use American money because I would get confused otherwise. So if you're wondering why it's different, that's why. I hope you enjoy it and please review at the end, no flames please. Thank you.

**Ch.1 **

After four grunts, a rude voice asking why no one could leave a wand alone, a loud crack, and Harry Potter had apparated to his job at the ministry of magic. Ginny Potter sat at the breakfast table, her face was flushed, her lips were pursed, and the only reason she was not crying was that the last minute anger had taken its place.

Ginny and Harry had been married for about 15 years now. After Hogwarts Harry had defeated Voldemort for good; it was at the celebration party the next night that Harry had proposed to Ginny. She was ecstatic, and of course said 'yes'. Ginny had been in love with Harry since the first time she ever saw him and as for Harry he realized he loved Ginny when he saved her from Voldemort in his second year. After that they had been inseparable. They had promised each other that they would get married after Harry had defeated Voldemort for the last time but not a second before. He didn't want to leave Ginny a widow and with a broken heart. At first everything seemed fine, but as the years passed they started growing distant.

"I won't stand it, said Ginny. "I won't stand it!" She stayed for a few moments gloomy, and then murmured: "The minx. Nasty sly little cat! How could Harry be such a fool?"

Anger faded and grief came back. Tears came into Ginny's eyes and rolled slowly down her middle-aged cheeks. "It's all very well to say I won't stand it, but what can I do?" Suddenly she felt alone, helpless, utterly forlorn. Slowly she took up the morning paper and read, not for the first time, an advertisement on the front page.

_Are you happy if not, consult Mr. Cottet, 67 Harvest Lane._

"Absurd!" said Ginny. "Utterly absurd…After all I might just see…"

Which explains why at eleven o'clock Ginny, a little nervous, was being shown into Mr. Cottet's office. It was a large wooden room with books covering almost every part of the walls. In the middle of the room was a large neatly organized desk with a large, but not to say fat, man behind it. As she entered he gave her a comforting smile. As had been said Ginny was a little nervous, but somehow or another, the mere sight of Mr. Cottet brought a feeling of reassurance. He had a bald head of dignified extent, strong glasses and little twinkling eyes. "Pray sit down," said Mr. Cottet. "You have come in answer to my advertisement?" he added helpfully.

"Yes," said Ginny but stopped there.

"You are not happy," said Mr. Cottet in a cheerful, matter-of-fact voice. "Very few people are. You would really be surprised if you knew how few people are happy."

"Indeed?" said Ginny not feeling, however, that it matter whether other people were unhappy or not.

"Not very interesting to you, I know," said Mr. Cottet, "but very interesting to _me_. You see, for forty years of my life I have been engaged in the compelling of statistics in a government office. Now I have retired, and it has occurred to me to use the experience I have gained in a novel fashion. It is all so simple. Unhappiness can be classified under five main heads-no more, I assure you. Once you know the cause of a malady, the remedy should not be impossible. I stand in the place of a doctor. The doctor first diagnoses the patient's disorder, and then he proceeds to propose a course of treatment. There are cases where no treatment can be of any advantage. If that is so, I say truthfully that I can do nothing. But I assure you, Madame Potter, that if I undertake a case, the cure is practically definite."

Could this be true? Was this rubbish, or could it perhaps, be true? Ginny gazed at him hopefully.

"Shall we diagnose your case?" asked Mr. Cottet, smiling. He leaned back in his chair and brought the tips of his chubby fingers together. "The trouble concerns your husband. You've had, on the whole, a happy married life. Your husband has, I think, prospered. I think there is a lady concerned in the case-perhaps a young lady in your husbands office?"

"A typist," said Ginny. "She's a nasty, made-up, little minx, all lipstick and silk stockings and curls. No one is able to see the gold-digger underneath all that." The words rushed from her.

Mr. Cottet nodded in a soothing manner. "There is no real harm in it-that is your husband's phrase, I have no doubt."

"His very words." Ginny responded automatically.

"Why, therefore, should he not enjoy a pure friendship with this young lady, and be able to bring a little brightness, a little pleasure, into her dull existence? Poor child, she has no fun. Those, I imagine, are his sentiments."

Ginny nodded with vigor. "Rubbish-all rubbish! He takes her on the river-I'm fond of going on the river myself, but five or six years ago he said it interfered with his golf. But he can give golf up for _her_. I like the theater-Harry has always said he's too tired to go out at night. Now he takes her out to dance-_dance_ and comes back at three in the morning. I-I-"

"And doubtless he deplores the fact that women are so jealous, so unreasonably jealous when there is absolutely no cause for jealousy?"

Again Ginny nodded. "That's it." She asked sharply, "How do you know all this?"

"Statistics," Mr. Cottet said simply.

"I'm so miserable," said Ginny. "I've always been a good wife to Harry. I worked my fingers to the bone in our early days. I helped him to get on. I've never looked at any other man. His things are always mended, he gets good meals, and the house is well and economically run. And now that we've got on in the world and could enjoy ourselves and go about a bit and do all these things I've looked forward to doing some day-well, this!" She swallowed hard.

Mr. Cottet nodded gravely. "I assure you I understand your case perfectly."

"And-can you do anything?" Ginny asked almost in a whisper.

"Certainly, my dear lady. There is a cure. Oh, yes, there is a cure."

"What is it?" She waited, round-eyed, and expectant.

Mr. Cottet spoke quietly and firmly. "You will place yourself in my hands, and the fee will be one thousand American dollars."

"One thousand dollars!"

"Exactly. You can afford to pay such a fee, Mrs. Potter. You would pay that sum for an operation. Happiness is just as important as bodily health."

"I pay your afterwards, I suppose?"

"On the contrary," said Cottet. "You pay me in advance."

Ginny rose. "I'm afraid I don't see why I should-"

"Pay that much? Do you value your relationship as much as it shows? I believe you do." said Mr. Cottet readily. "Well perhaps you're right. It's a lot of money to risk. You've got to trust me, you see. You've got to pay the money and take a chance. Those are my terms."

"1,000 American dollars! I still can't believe it."

"I know it's a lot of money, but I can assure you that it's well worth it. Good afternoon, Madame Potter. Let me know if you change your mind." He shook hands with her, smiling in an unperturbed manner. When she had gone he pressed a buzzer on his desk. A forbidding-looking woman with spectacles answered it. "A file, please, Miss Christi. And you might tell Sebastian Walters that I am likely to want him shortly."

"A new client?" asked Miss Christi, responding through the intercom.

"A new client. At the moment she is jibbed, but she will come back. Probably this afternoon, about four. Warn Sebastian not too exotic, tell him. No scent and he'd better get his hair cut shorter; just below the ears would be fine."

It was a quarter past four when Ginny once more entered Mr. Cottet's office. She drew out a check book, made out a check and passed it to him. A receipt was given in return.

"And now?" Ginny looked at him hopefully.

"And now," said Mr. Cottet, smiling, "you will return home. By the first owl tomorrow you will receive instructions which I would be glad if you carried out." Ginny went home in a state of pleasant anticipation. Harry came home in a state of defensive mood, ready to argue his position if the scene at the breakfast table was reopened.

He was relieved; however, his wife did not seem to be in a combative mood. She was unusually thoughtful. Harry listened to the radio and wondered whether that dear child Viola would allow him to give her a fur coat. She was very proud, he knew. He didn't want to offend her. Still, she had complained of the cold. That tweed coat of hers was a cheap thing; it didn't keep the cold out. He could put it so that she wouldn't mind; perhaps…of course, they must have another evening out soon. It was a pleasure to take a girl like that to a nice restaurant. He could see several young fellows were envying him. She was uncommonly pretty. And she liked him. To her, as she had told him, he didn't seem a bit old. He looked up and caught his wife's eye. He felt suddenly guilty, which annoyed him. What a narrow-minded, suspicious woman Ginny was! She grudged him any little bit of happiness. He switched off the radio and went to bed.

Ginny received two unexpected letters the following morning. One was a printed form confirming an appointment at a noted beauty specialist's. The second was an appointment with a dressmaker. The third was from Mr. Cottet, requesting the pleasure of her company at lunch at The Three Broomsticks that day.

Harry mentioned that he might not be home to dinner that evening as he had to see a man on business. Ginny merely nodded absently, and Harry left the house congratulating himself on having escaped the storm.

The beauty specialist was impressive. Such neglect! Madam, but _why_? This should have been taken in hand years ago. However, it was not too late. Things were done to her face; it was pressed, kneaded, and steamed. It had mud applied to it. It had creams applied to it. It was dusted with powder. There were various finishing touches. At last she was given a mirror. "I believe I _do_ look younger." She thought to herself.

The dressmaking séance was equally exciting. She emerged feeling smart, modish, up-to-date. She was suited with a flowing white skirt; with light green flowers embroider on it, which went to just above her knees. Her top was a button up blouse the same color as the flowers on her skirt. At last she was topped off with light green sandals and a white hat with a small bow on the side. The outfit fit her flawlessly and it matched her hair perfectly.

At half-past-one, Ginny kept her appointment at The Three Broomsticks. Mr. Cottet, faultlessly dressed and carrying with him his atmosphere of soothing reassurance, was waiting for her. "Charming," he said, an experienced eye sweeping her from head to toe. "I have ventured to order you a butterbeer." Ginny made no protest as she sipped the fluid gingerly; she listened to her benevolent instructor.

"Your husband, Mrs. Potter," said Mr. Cottet "must be made to Sit Up. You understand-to Sit Up. To assist in that, I am going to introduce you to a friend of mine. You will lunch with him today." At that moment a young man came along, looking from side to side. He espied Mr. Cottet and came gracefully towards them. "Mr. Sebastian Walters, Mrs. Ginny Potter."

Sebastian was perhaps just shy of thirty. He was graceful, debonair, perfectly dressed, and extremely handsome. "Delighted to meet you," he murmured.

Three minutes later Ginny was facing her new mentor at a small table for two. She was shy at first, but Sebastian soon put her at ease. He knew Paris well and had spent a good deal of time in the Riviera. He asked Ginny if she were fond of dancing. Ginny said she was, but that she seldom got any dancing nowadays as Harry didn't care to go out in the evenings. "But he couldn't be so unkind as to keep _you_ at home," said Sebastian, smiling and displaying a dazzling row of teeth. "Women will not tolerate male jealousy in these days." Ginny nearly said that jealousy didn't enter into the question, but the words remained unspoken. After all, it was an agreeable idea. Sebastian spoke of airily night clubs. It was settled that on the following evening Ginny and Sebastian should patronize the popular Lesser Archangel, the hottest night club in England.

Ginny was a little nervous at first announcing this fact to her husband. Harry, she felt, would think it extraordinary and possibly ridiculous. But she was saved all the trouble on this score. She had been too nervous to make her announcement at breakfast, and at two o'clock a telephone call come to the effect the Harry would be dining in town.

The evening was a great success. Ginny had been a good dancer as a girl and under Sebastian's skilled guidance she soon picked up modern steps. He congratulated her on her gown and also on the arrangement of her hair. An appointment had been made for her that morning with a fashionable hairdresser. On bidding her farewell, he kissed her hand in a most thrilling manner. Ginny had not enjoyed an evening so much for years.

A bewildering ten days passed. Ginny had lunched, teaed, tangoed, dined, danced, and supped. She heard all about Sebastian's sad childhood. She heard the sad circumstances in which he had grown up. She heard of his tragic romance and his feelings towards women generally.

One the eleventh day they were dancing at the Red Admiral. Ginny saw her spouse before he saw her. Harry was with the young lady from his office. Both couples were dancing. "Hello, Harry," Ginny said lightly, as their orbits brought them together. It was with considerable amusement that she saw her husband's face grow first red, then purple with astonishment. With the astonishment was blended an expression of guilt detected. Ginny felt amusedly mistress of the situation. Poor old Harry! Seated once more at her table, she watched them. How stout he had gotten, how bald he had gotten, how terribly he bounced on his feet! He danced in the style twenty years ago. Poor Harry, how terribly he wanted to be young! And that poor girl he was dancing with had to pretend to like it. She looked bored enough now, her face over his shoulder where he couldn't see it. How much more enviable, thought Ginny contentedly, was her own situation. She glanced at the perfect Sebastian, now tactfully silent. How well he understood her. She looked at him again, their eyes met, he smiled; his beautiful dark eyes, so melancholy, so romantic, looked tenderly into hers.

"Shall we dance again?" he muttered.

They danced again. It was heaven! She was conscious of Harry's enraged gaze following them. It had been the idea, she remembered, to make Harry jealous, what a long time ago that was! She really didn't want Harry to be jealous now. It might upset him. Why should he be upset, poor thing? Everyone was so happy…

Ginny had been home an hour when Harry got in. He looked bewildered and unsure of himself. "Humph," he remarked. "So you're back."

Ginny cast off an evening wrap which had cost her forty dollars that very morning. "Yes," she said, smiling. "I'm back."

Harry coughed. "Er-rather odd meeting you."

"Wasn't it?" said Ginny.

"I-well, I thought it would be a kindness to take that girl somewhere. She's been having a lot of trouble at home. I thought-well, kindness you know." Ginny nodded. Poor old Harry-bouncing on his feet and getting so hot and being so pleased with himself.

"So who's that chap you were with? I don't know him do I?"

"Walters, his name is. Sebastian Walters."

"How did you come across him?"

"Oh, someone introduced me," said Ginny vaguely.

"Rather a queer thing for you to go out dancing-at your time of life. Mustn't make a fool of yourself, my dear."

Ginny smiled. She was feeling much too kindly to the universe in general to make the obvious reply. "A change is always nice," she said amiably.

"You've got to be careful, you know. A lot of those lounge-lizard fellows going about. Middle aged women sometimes make awful fools of themselves. I'm just warning you, my dear. I don't like to see you doing anything unsuitable."

"I find the excuse very beneficial," said Ginny

"Um-yes…"

"I expect I do, too." Said Ginny kindly. "The great thing is to be happy, isn't it? I remember your saying so one morning at breakfast about ten days ago."

Her husband looked at her sharply, but her expression was devoid of sarcasm. She yawned. "I must go to bed. By the way, Harry, I've been dreadfully extravagant lately. Some terrible bills will be coming in. You don't mind, do you?"

"Bills?" said Harry.

"Yes, for clothes, and massage, and hair treatment. Wickedly extravagant I've been-but I know you won't mind."

She passed up the stairs of their house. Harry remained with his mouth slightly hung open. Ginny had been amazingly nice about this evenings business; she hadn't seemed to care at all. But it was a pity she had suddenly taken to spending money. Ginny-the model of economy! Women! Harry Potter shook his head. The scrapes that girl's bothers had been getting into lately. Well, he'd been glad to help. All the same-dash it all, things weren't going too well in the city. Sighing, Harry in his turn slowly climbed up the stairs after his wife.

Sometimes words fail to make their effect at the time are remembered later. Not till the following morning did certain words uttered by Harry really penetrate Ginny's consciousness; lounge-lizards; middle-aged women; awful fools of themselves.

Ginny was courageous at heart. She sat down and faced the facts. A gigolo. She had read about them in the papers as well as follies of middle-aged women. Was Draco a gigolo? She supposed he was. But then, gigolos were paid for, Sebastian always paid for her. Yes, but it was Mr. Cottet who paid, not Sebastian -or, rather, it was really her own one thousand dollars. Was she a middle-aged fool? Did Sebastian laugh at her behind her back? Her face flushed at the thought. Well, what of it? Sebastian was a gigolo. She was a middle-aged fool. She supposed she should have given him something, a gold cigarette case, that sort of thing.

A strange impulse drove her out there and then to Asprey's. The cigarette case was chosen and paid for. She was to meet Sebastian at Coleridge's for lunch. As they were sipping their tea she produced it from her bag. "A little present," she murmured.

He looked up and frowned "For me?"

"Yes, I-I hope you like it."

His hand closed over it and he slid it violently across the table. "Why do you give me that? I won't take it. Take it back. Take it back I say." He was angry. His light eyes flashed dark for a second.

Ginny murmured, "I'm sorry," and put it away in her bag.

There was restraint between them that day. The Following morning he rang her up. "I must see you. Can I come to your house this afternoon?" She told him to come at three o'clock.

He arrived very white, very tense. They greeted each other. The restraint was more evident. Suddenly he sprang up and stood facing her. "What do you think I am? That is what I've come to ask you. We've been friends haven't we? Yes, friends. But all the same, you think I'm-well, a gigolo. A creature that lives on women, a lounge-lizard. You do don't you?"

"No, no"

He swept aside her protest. His face had gone very white. "You _do_ think that! Well, it's true. That's what I've come to say. It's true! I had my orders to take you about, to amuse you, to make love to you, to make you forget your husband. That was my job, a despicable one, eh? I'm through with it. I can't carry on with it. Not with _you._ You're different. You're the kind of woman I could believe in, trust, and adore. You think I'm just saying this; that it's part of the game."

He came closer to her. "I'm going to prove to you it isn't. I'm going away-because of you. I'm going to make myself into a man instead of the loathsome creature I am because of you." He took her suddenly in his arms. His lips closed on hers. Then he released her and stood away. "Good-by. I've been a rotter-always. But I swear it will be different now. Do you remember once saying you liked to read the advertisements in the Agony column? On this day, every year, you'll find a message there from me saying that I remember you and am making good. You'll know, then, all you've meant to me. One thing more, I've taken nothing form you. I want you to take something form me." He drew a plain gold ring from his finger. "This was my mothers. I'd like you to have it. Now good-by."

He left her standing there amazed, the gold ring in her hand. Harry came home early. He found his wife gazing into the fire with a far-away look on her face. She spoke kindly but absently to him.

"Look here, Ginny," he jerked out suddenly, "About the other girl?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I-I never meant to upset you, you know. About her. Nothing in it."

"I know, I was foolish. See as much as you like of her if it makes you happy."

These words, surely, would have cheered Harry. Strangely enough, they annoyed him. How could you enjoy taking a girl about when your wife fairly urged you on? Dash it all, it wasn't decent! All that feeling of being a happy dog, of being a strong man playing with fire, fizzled and died an ignominious death. Harry felt suddenly tired and a great deal poorer in the pocket. The girl was a shrewd little piece.

"We might go away together somewhere for a bit if you like, Ginny?" he suggested timidly.

"Oh never mind about me. I'm quite happy."

"But I'd like to take you away. We might go to the Riviera."

Ginny smiled at him from a distance. Poor old Harry, she was fond of him. He was such a pathetic old dear. There was no secret splendor in his life as there was in hers. She smiled more tenderly still. "That would be lovely, my dear." She said.

Mr. Cottet was speaking to Miss. Christi. "Entertainment account?"

"Five hundred forty eight dollars and seventy two cents," said Miss. Christi.

The door was pushed open and Sebastian Walters entered. He looked moody.

"Morning, Sebastian," said Mr. Cottet. "Everything go off satisfactorily?"

"I suppose so."

"The ring? What name did you put in it, by the way?"

"Matilda," said Sebastian gloomily. "1975"

"Excellent. What wording for the advertisement?"

"Making good. Still remember. Sebastian"

"Make a note of that, please, Miss. Christi. The Agony column. November third for, let me see, expenses five hundred forty eight and seventy two. Yes, for ten years, I think. That leaves us a profit of about four hundred fifty one and twenty eight cents. Adequate. Quite adequate."

Miss. Christi departed.

"Look here," Sebastian burst out. "I don't like this. It's a rotten game."

"My dear boy!"

"A rotten game. That was a decent woman-a good sort. Telling her all those lies, filling her up with this sob stuff, dash it all, it makes me sick!"

Mr. Cottet adjusted his glasses and looked at Sebastian with a kind of scientific interest. "Dear me!" he said dryly. "I do not seem to remember that your conscience ever trouble you during your somewhat-ahem!-notorious career. Your affairs on the Riviera were particularly shameless, and your exploration of Mrs. Hattie West, the Californian Cucumber King's wife, was especially notable for the coldhearted mercenary instinct you displayed."

"Well, I'm beginning to feel different," grumbled Sebastian. "It isn't-nice, this game."

Mr. Cottet spoke in the voice of a head master scolding a favorite pupil, "You have, my dear Sebastian, performed a meritorious action. You have given an unhappy woman what every woman need-a romance. A woman tears a passion to pieces and gets no good from it, but a romance can be laid up in lavender and looked at all through the long years to come. I know human nature, my boy, and I tell you that a woman can feed on such an incident for years." He coughed. "We have discharged our commission to Mrs. Potter very satisfactorily.

"Well," murmured Sebastian, "I don't like it." He left the room in one sweeping motion.

Mr. Cottet took a new file from a drawer and wrote: Interesting vestiges of a conscience noticeable in hardened Lounge Lizard. Note: Study development, across the top of it.


End file.
